


Starburst

by wubz-bubx-redux (Inorganic_soot)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Fireworks, First Time, Hand Jobs, Incest, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, References to Underage Drinking, Teen!Stans, mentions of gambling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 10:36:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12106872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inorganic_soot/pseuds/wubz-bubx-redux
Summary: Stan and Ford go on a long drive by the beach.In other words, Stan wants to show Ford something.Underneath hot, sulphurous sparks and empty sky, he can be as unrestrained as he wants. It's liberating.For the Summer of Stancest - Fireworks prompt.





	Starburst

Stan shifts around, uncomfortable. He's lying horizontally across the bed, head hanging off the edge of mattress. He stares out the window, restlessness etched into each line of his face.

“What is it?” Ford can feel a familiar prickle at the nape of his neck: the sensation of being watched.

"Nothing, Sixer." Stan taps out a nonsensical tune on the bed-frame. The old wooden slats creak as he moves.

Ford sighs. Stan has been like this for hours, anxious and waiting. He tries to refocus and read but he, too, is distracted. The words and numbers blur in front of him into a writhing mass of black ink on crisp white paper. Maybe he should take a break.

Stan fidgets behind him, “You done with your nerd book?”

Ford nods, rising up from the desk. His back aches from hunching forward over his books. He stretches, moaning as he muscles loosen and relax.

Stan is already standing, hands in pockets, rocking from his heels to his toes.

"What is it, Lee?" He's genuinely curious, Stan doesn't usually look this flustered.

"I've got to show you something." Stan says quickly before pausing, biting his lip. "It's a surprise so you've gotta close your eyes." He adds, hand reaching out for Ford's. Ford's eyebrows rise but he obeys, shutting his eyes and entwining their fingers.

Stan guides him through the house, down into the shop. He goes slowly and his grip is sure and warm. Ford isn't worried, he's lived here all his life and he knows each pane of wood on the floor, the way the third step will groan in protest if he steps on it. This is home, but there's something comforting about having Stan so close to him.

There's a soft clinking noise that follows them as they move. They go out onto the road, the pavement hot beneath the thin soles of his shoes, the burning rays of the setting sun paint the backs of eyelids a vivid, blood-toned red and the high sound of hard metal hitting metal remains.

“What’d you do all this for?”

Stan lets go of his hand. "See for yourself, Sixer."

Ford opens his eyes. “Stan, what the hell?” His brother is standing in front of one of the most beautiful cars he has ever seen: sleek, long and low.

“Never thought I’d hear you curse in my lifetime.” Stan is laughing, fingers sliding over the gleaming hood reverentially.

“Where’d you get that? How did you get that?” There is no conceivable universe where Stan owns this car. There isn't.

“Won it in a game of cards.” Stan grins, big and roguish.

Ford sputters. “You’re 17, you’re not allowed to gamble.”

“Not allowed to drink either, but I do anyway.” Stan is swinging the keys around his index finger expertly.

“Stan!”

His brother seems entirely unfazed.

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud, I saw you sneaking some spiked punch at prom when you thought no one was looking.”

“I never—”

“Sixer, I’m your brother. I’m not gonna judge you.” Stan throws a heavy arm around his shoulders, pulling him close.  
“Come on, stop standing there like an idiot. I wanna take you for a ride in this thing. And no excuses, I waited you for be done with all your nerd shit.”

Ford flushes, he wants to say yes but his good sense, his fear, gets ahead of him. “What’re you gonna tell Ma and Pa?”

“They’re not coming back till Sunday morning. They won't know.” Stanley says easily, confident with his plan.

Ford looks at Stan likes he's an idiot. “They're gonna notice the car, Lee.”

“I’ll just say I made some money boxing. Christ, Ford. You’re such a worrier. I've got it all under control." Ford chooses to believe Stan.

“Do you even know how to drive?” He questions, half-serious, smiling at the sheer insanity of it all

"I've got a license, don't I? That not enough for you?" Stan bumps against him playfully, before unlocking the door. "You ready?"

Ford gets into the car.

 

* * *

 

They drive down the coast, taking the twisting and winding back-roads that are separated from the ocean by a small strip of sand. There's no one else there and Ford believes, for the hazy length of a breath, that they are alone, and only the sea, frothing and roiling against the shore, is there to witness them.

Stan's gaze is fixed in the road, knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel. Ford looks out of the window and watches the sun set over the water, watches the waning light paint the interior of the car with bright strokes of soft and crumbling pollen-yellow. He thinks of the future, of Stan and him floating out into the ocean, on a boat going nowhere and everywhere — free. These are old thoughts, old dreams, one's that he's almost forgotten but not quite.

Glass Shard Beach is far behind them when Stan stops. It's an overlook, precariously perched on a cliff's edge, the incline facing downwards, dipping them into the vastness of the sea.

Stan rolls down the window, the night air is heavy with expectation, thick with humidity and darkness. Lights flicker against the black smudge of the coast, the half-hidden glimmer of a distant city. Above them, the sky glitters with faint stars, moonless.

"Why are we here?" Ford asks.

Stan doesn't answer, he's been quiet the entire drive. He takes a deep breath and shuts the engine. The car is plunged into silence. There is only the whisper of wind, the crash of waves against sand.

And then an explosion. Distant and far off, but unmistakable.

When Ford looks up there is a splash of colour against the inky blackness of the sky. Fireworks, that hang above the far away town before fading away. “Did you know about this, Stan? Is that why we drove here?”

Stan runs a hand through his hair nervously. “Maybe?” His voice is high. "Do you like them?"

Ford turns to him, trying to look at him properly. The fireworks are reflected in Stan’s eyes, bright flashes of colour caught in the wet darkness of his pupils. Stan lowers his gaze, blushing a sweet red from the scrutiny.

Warmth unfurls inside his chest, a beating rose in bloom. "I do."

Stan smiles, his teeth white and wet, lips pink and glossy. He's perfect. "Ford, I wanted to ask you something—" Stan leans closer, his eyes bright and earnest.

He doesn't need to finish because Ford understands.

They're kissing, Ford isn't quite sure who leaned in first. His mouth is awkward against Stan, unpracticed but wet and eager. He wants to move closer, wants the kiss to be deeper but he doesn't know how. He moans in frustration.

"Slow down, Sixer." Stan murmurs, pulling back slightly. He places a large palm on Ford's face, angling him so that their noses slide against each other. Stan's eyelids have fluttered shut and Ford observes Stan with the rapt attention of a budding scientist. He catalogues the heavy smudges of his eyebrows, the thick fan of eyelashes against his soft cheeks, the small curl of hair that has fallen on his forehead.

Ford kisses him again, slower this time. Like he has hours and days and decades ahead of them because he does. He has the rest of his life to watch Stan's jaw harden and then lose shape as they meander towards senescence. He has so much time but he's still young and impatient.

"Stan." Ford's voice is deeper than he's ever heard it. "Stan, lie down."

Stan’s pupils expand like starbursts. Another explosion, gold flecks cover the sky and Stan is on his back beneath Ford.

Stan's panting; his chest expands and contracts, pressing against Ford's own. The softness of his stomach molds against Ford, warm and yielding. Ford's dick is hard and a gust of sea breeze ruffles his hair.

"Ford. I've never done this before." Stan's cheeks are pink with embarrassment, with lust.

A rush of heat, white-hot and sparking, jolts down Ford's belly and his cock twitches. He's going to be Stan's first, just as Stan is for him. "Neither have I." He breaths.

Ford leans down and kisses Stan, runs his hand through the melting gel in his brother's hair, feels sweat-damp strands against his fingers and chapped lips against his own.

His brother's hands are twisted in the front of his shirt, fingers darting between the spaces between each button, rubbing against Ford's chest. Ford sighs as the backs of Stan's fingers rub against his nipple.

Stan spreads his legs out farther, one is bent and pressed against the back of the seat and the other is stuck out over the dashboard. He's trying to get Ford as close as possible. His thighs bracket Ford's hips so that each unintentional shift causes their dicks to drag against each other. Stan is writhing beneath him.

"Stanford. I need—"

He noses Stan's neck, licks the perspiration off his jaw. Stan smells of salt and smoke, or maybe that is the ocean and the fireworks from outside. Beneath it is something familiar: dark, heavy and sweet, a scent uniquely Stan's own. "Patience, Lee."

His brother jerks beneath him, rolling his hips against Ford. "Now, Sixer. Been waiting too long."

Stan begins unbuttoning Ford's shirt, fingers shaking. He doesn't finish because Ford reaches down and cups him through his jeans, palming the outline of his dick. Ford's chest is half-exposed, fabric gaping as he bends down, nipples tight and red, and he feels that this is more wanton than being naked, they're too desperate for each other.

Ford squeezes Stan's dick and his brother keens. "Fuck, Ford. Yes. More."

Stan throws his head back as Ford undoes his fly and his cock is exposed. It's thick, thicker than Ford's own, and dripping pre-come all over his fingers. Another boom, it's jarring in spite of the distance, and Stan's wet cock glistens blue and red, reflecting the light from outside.

Ford unclasps his belt, the soft metallic sound loud and piercing in the lull between explosions. Stan watches him pull down his pants, freeing his cock. The fabric bunches right beneath the swell of his ass. He bends over Stan, placing his weight on his forearms. "Lee, touch me."

Stan's hands are tentative. Sweaty and calloused they circle his cock, but they retain a childish softness. There's a plushness to his palms that Ford doesn't have and the first touch has him biting his hand to stifle his moans.

"Ford." Stan's hand moves away, rises up and strokes his abdomen. "I wanna hear you."

Ford doesn't have it in him to refuse. He's loud, embarrassingly so. He feels unspeakably grateful that they're alone out here. Underneath hot, sulphurous sparks and empty sky, he can be as unrestrained as he wants. It's liberating.

He ruts into Stan's hand, and it's smaller than his, five fingers instead of six. It doesn't quite cover his dick like his own does but he doesn't care because it's Stan.

"Sixer." Stan whispers, breath hot and damp against his neck. His other hand pushes Ford's back down, bringing them closer together so that their cocks graze against each other. "Gimme your hand."

Ford pulls back a little so he can snake a hand between their abdomens, his cock dribbles wetness onto Stan's belly, onto his dick, making it slicker and wetter and hotter. Stan grips both of their dicks together, and molds Ford's fingers around them. Oh _fuck—_

Stan's dick is hotter than his palm, bumping against his own arousal. The rough material of his jeans abrades Ford's thigh but he still thrusts forward, into his palm, against his brother's cock.

Ford jerks them together slowly, enraptured by the sight of their sweat slickened dicks inside the circle of his fist. Stan's hands are holding his hips, urging him to go faster.  
His brother's shirt is saturated with perspiration, nipples visible through the thin fabric.

"Ford — _ah_ , _ah_ — I need more. Tighter." Stan's hips thrust up violently, and their stomachs press together. There's so much friction but it's not enough.

"Kiss me, Lee." And Stan does, wet and sloppy. More tongue and teeth than anything else. But it's good and he's almost there. "I'm close." His voice is choked, thick with lust.

His balls are tight, his abdomen twitches, his toes curl, and in the distance a flare of white streaks into the skies and bursts, vivid and beautiful. He's coming.

When he comes back to himself, Ford finds he has collapsed on top of Stan, and that he's sticky with semen and sweat. Stan is still hard beneath him, looking star struck and lust-dumb, and he slots into the space between car seat and his brother.

"Stanford. Please." Stan's incoherent with desire, fingers gripping the seat cushions.

Ford takes his trembling hand and rubs it into the mess on Stan's belly, tracing small circles on his soft stomach. Stan cries out, and Ford takes pity. He nuzzles against Stan's broad shoulder and jacks his brother off, hand lubricated with his own release, grip tight and sure.

"Come for me, Lee." Ford sucks a small mark onto Stan's neck as his brother stiffens from orgasm. He watches the come arc through the air, collect and pool on his brother's chest. His hand is wet and dirty but he keeps touching Stan.

Stan turns to him, limbs slack, face vulnerable, a waning flicker of fire-light illuminates the inside of the car and they watch as it dissipates into smoke. Ford leans down and kisses Stan, it will be a long drive home.

**Author's Note:**

> Written pretty much entirely on my phone so I'm sorry about the errors. Also, I low-key seeded this fic in progressive collapse's second last chapter I think.


End file.
